| St. Laurence |
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Within the broken Vatican
The murdered Pope is lying dead.
The soldiers of Valerian
Their evil hands are wet and red.
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Unarmed, unmoved, St. Laurence waits,
His cassock is his only mail.
The troops of Hell have burst the gates,
But Christ is Lord, He shall prevail.
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They have encompassed him with steel,
They spit upon his gentle face,
He smiles and bleeds, nor will reveal
The Church’s hidden treasure-place.
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Ah, faithful steward, worthy knight,
Well hast thou done. Behold thy fee!
Since thou hast fought the goodly fight
A martyr’s death is fixed for thee.
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St. Laurence, pray for us to bear
The faith which glorifies thy name.
St. Laurence, pray for us to share
The wounds of Love’s consuming flame.
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